


sobriety

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Charles and Donna, Donna is The Most Righteous, Gen, Miscommunication, Possible Sexual Harassment, lots of repression and confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 18:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: The dancing is the easy part.





	sobriety

The dancing is the easy part. Years of lessons and muscle memory kicks in as he guides Donna up and down the floor of the Tokyo hotel. Whoever thought to put social events on the schedule for medical conferences was a genius, he allows.

The kissing isn't much harder, not with Donna on the tips of her high-heeled toes, grinning against his mouth and whispering, "You kiss as well as you cut, Doctor." A compliment that would seem cheeky coming from anyone but her, he's suddenly grateful for the single glass of scotch he's had tonight. Whatever comes from this, at least he'll remember it.

She leads him to her room by his tie. That is not difficult. (Except for the part where the height difference nearly chokes him six or seven times, but he doesn't mind. The discomfort is more than worth the thrill of her small hand so close to his throat.)

It's been so long since he was alone with a woman, away from the governing rules of public engagement. There is no muscle memory, after she's locked the door behind them. There are no steps he's learned to follow her to bed. 

He doesn't realize she's been calling his name until he feels her hand on his cheek.

He blinks, tries to shake himself back into the moment, the room. He's sitting on the edge of the bed and unsure how he got there. She's perched next to him, knees peeking out from under her practical drab skirt. 

"Charles?" she says, and it's the first time she's called him that all night. Her eyes are full of concern. "Are you all right?"

He's fine. He's mortified. He's confused,and quite possibly losing his mind.

"I - " he begins, with as much dignity as he can muster. "I don't know that I can remember the last time I found myself in such a position with this much sobriety."

She gives him a kind smile.

"I was going to tell you that I had every intention of blowing your mind," she says softly, eyes twinkling. "But you seem to have beat me to it."

He tries to stammer out an answer, an explanation. His mind casts wildly, for a moment, to Pierce. He would know how to handle this moment. This...situation. This _woman._

Charles has never once been tempted to ask the man for advice, but he'd now give his left hand for it.

"Donna," he says finally. "You are...utterly splendid. I feel like I've been granted a chance to do something marvelous, only to find I lack the wings."

He does not expect what comes next. She slides a playful hand between his legs, looking at him earnestly. "I don't feel anything lacking," she says, deadly serious. 

Charles's cheeks nearly burn off his face.

She withdraws her hand, the eagerness in her face twisting into concern. "Chuck? Listen to me."

He shakes his head again, trying to focus on her, and not the way a persistent humming in his ears makes her sound a thousand miles away.

"I had every intention of taking you to bed, but - " she puts a hand on his and squeezes it, which helps. Her words get clearer as she does. " - I don't have to. We don't have to do a thing."

"I need to lie down," he mutters as he falls over onto his side. Gd, this is humiliating. In the history of the Winchesters, has a man ever found himself so utterly useless in the company of a good woman? He's suddenly grateful his father never had a chance to instruct him on the subject. He has no doubt he'd be disappointed in Charles right now.

Donna gets up and grabs him a glass of water. She comes back, kneels by the bed, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt. "Give me your room key," she says. "I can sleep there." 

"No," he protests. "I'm not going to banish you from your own room." 

"It's nothing, Chuck. You're all right. I'd like you to stay that way."

"Donna, I - " the words stick in his throat. 

"What is it?"

He swallows. Closes his eyes. Speaks deliberately, focusing on the syllables, rather than the words, like putting one foot in front of the other. "It has been a /very/ long time since I have enjoyed the company of any, ah, any woman in this...capacity."

She quirks an eyebrow. "That would imply you've done it before."

He rolls over, unable to face her. When the words finally make it out of his mouth, he feels them curling up into the air like smoke. "How did you know?"

He feels her sit on the edge of the bed, not touching him. "I think I know you better than you think I do," she says lightly. "It's possible that everyone in Korea knows you better than you think they do."

"Wonderful," he spits. "Am I so transparent?"

"Well, maybe only to me," she says thoughtfully. "And certainly Pierce and Hunnicutt. I wouldn't put it past that colonel of yours, either. He seems pretty sharp to me."

He shuts his eyes again, utterly miserable. A weaker version of him would cry.

"Charles..." she says. "I have an idea."

"What." he says flatly. "Does it have anything to do with...compensating for my evident shortcomings of masculinity?" 

"Just because you don't want women doesn't mean you're not lonely," she says. It comes out so smoothly, so easily and so utterly without judgment that he doesn't hear it until the words play themselves over in his head a few times.

They're silent for so long she thinks he may have fallen asleep. But he's too still, his breathing too quiet. 

"I'm not going to tell anyone," she finally says. 

"Tell them what." 

"Exactly," she answers, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You have nothing to fear from me, Chuck. I've been on your side since the first drink. I just want to know - who is it?"

"Who is what?"

"Don't make me spell it out."

"Woman, I haven't a clue what you're trying to ask me."

He can hear her rolling her eyes. She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. "Pierce? Hunnicutt? That Arab in your clerk's office?"

"No."

"The colonel?"

" _No._ "

"The _cook?!_ "

" _Damnit, Donna!_ " he cries, slamming his fist into the mattress. "No! I'm not pining after anyone in that - lascivious, sex-obsessed, drunken cesspool! Least of all my _bunkmates!_ Donna, please. I know what their socks smell like. The sounds of them singing are enough to make me want to drop myself over enemy lines and surrender to the North Koreans!"

"So someone at home, then?"

She cuts through his bluster like a dry, sharp knife. Sharp enough that the tears do come this time.

"Yes," he whispers into his pillow. "Yes. Are you satisfied? Will you leave, now?"

He feels her sliding over, rolling onto her side and stroking the crown of his head. "Sorry, Chuckles," she says. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
